Bvdn June 2018 apocalypse
by theAsh0
Summary: My entry pls enjoy.
1. Intro

This piece was done for the June 2018 bvdn challenge on 'the prince and the heiress' on discord. Six prompts were given, around a given theme. (Apocalypse)

Atomic

Barricade

Shelter

Radioactive

Wanderer

Set the world on fire.

This is what I made of it.

The prompt is mature, so I made it a lil dirty. not too much though. A bit unnerving maybe to some!

If you enjoyed this please let me know and make my day! ;)


	2. 1 atomic

Bulma knew she had an unhealthy addiction to danger.

It had started in her teens, with driving. The pure, hot/cold pit of fire that settled in the pit of her tummy, fed incremently through her spine with every turn she sped through. Too fast.

But soon, never fast enough.

The thrill had worn for her, and as pleasant as racing at break-neck speed still was for her, it didn't quite give her what she needed.

She had branched out into other fields then. Adventures and science projects.

How many times had she held her breath, telling herself,

one drop too much, and boom.

One missed screw and wham.

One wrong calculation; atomic.

But it always wore. The tangible feeling of happy fear of death rubbed off to a dull ache too fast, and she would find herself pushing, pushing further beyond anything wise to just feel a glimpse of it.

Her latest project was no exception.

A project that, let's face it, had his own unhealthy habits.

Said project had hurt himself again training. And while she was not one to nurse anything, she found herself at his improvised hospital bed in her labs, again.

Honestly, she didn't know why she bothered. If a certain Saiyan Prince meant to kill himself that certainly was no skin off her back.

No, she was probably here for that tinge down her spine she had felt at his presence on Namek.

It was little more than a buzz now though, as said project stared rigidly at the ceiling, face covered by a breathing mask.

He sighed then, slowly bringing up a hand to pull the mask off, and threw off the clingy sheet.

"All right," the alien stated, "I rested. Now I am getting the hell out of here, or I blow you up."

The 'rest' since his last outburst had lasted little over half an hour, and their quarrel had left him asphyxiated enough to lay back and desperately breath from his oxygen mask.

Saying Bulma was unimpressed by his latest threat was an understatement.

So, she pressed,

down on his bare shoulder. "You are just looking for an excuse to fall on your face, forget is mister."

It proved what Bulma already knew when the action halted his movement, as he struggled against gravity.

The Saiyan growled, then seemed to give up, but turned, impossibly, and made her slide off his smooth chest. "l am getting up, and you cannot stop me."

On a whim, she did not fight, but let is slide, falling, dropping against him as she used one hand on either side to grab the railing.

She probably should not have liked the stickiness of his skin against her cheek and above the hem of her dress.

Her houseguest seemed less amused, though he hardly seemed capable of bucking off her little 'weak' body, "get off me you filth!"

He was livid; had even started to bleed again. This time from the nose.

Bulma giggled, throwing a leg over the bed and straddling him.

Her dress rode up and her panties rubbed against his hard sweaty abs, soaking what was only a little moist before.

"Make me!"

Boom.

Wham.

Atomic.


	3. 2 barricade

"Are you both really _that_ stupid?"

Yamcha knows his mistake the moment the words leave his mouth. He wishes for nothing more than to take them back.

But it is impossible, and the damage is done.

He stands between them now, both physically and metaphorically.

And they both look towards him with a twinge in their eye that had not been there before.

For Bulma, it had been her game. One she enjoyed but would eventually grow tired off.

For her Saiyan house-guess.. who knew? Probably some disgusting mix of vengeance, frustration and self-flagellation.

But now, everything was different. Ymacha had made himself an obstacle; an adversary. And he had done so simply by voicing what they must have been thinking of their little fling only a moment ago themselves.

The irony was not lost on him.

Yet Yamcha also understood, barricades were meant to be scaled.


	4. 3 shelter

There is a room where all the rules are broken. He does not know why, or how. But everything in that place is wrong.

So, he stays clear of it.

Outside, the world still, at least, makes sense.

Outside, he is powerful, driven, and empty except for pure rage.

Outside, the woman is loud, obnoxious, demanding.

Though she can be loud inside the room too. But it is worse, because he can't bring himself to mind, then.

If that is no indication of how warped that place is, Vegeta does not dare remember any other examples.

And so he steers clear.

The door left ajar does not tempt him, the window opened at night means nothing to him.

He does not need it, for he is strong.

Always, night after night.

He has been strong and vigilant his entire life. Why quit while you're ahead?

He is good at it. Can keep this up for years. He _will_ keep this up for years.

Starting tomorrow.


	5. 4 wanderer

Space.

It's just an empty shell.

One would not think it, listening to the woman gush about it. About her own achievements making it accessible to earthlings for the first time. Not counting some ridiculous endeavour in visiting the planets and moons closest to them of course.

But he knows better.

The stars shine down like a million bright eyes watching him and his craft. A hundred million planets beckoning him.

But there is nothing there.

An ugly world, the sun's light empty and soul-less when he gets close.

The creatures stunted and stupid and nothing like Saiyans.

Or humans.

Some are worth killing, some worth eating.

Though their meat turns to ashen in his mouth.

He sighs, plotting a course back to earth.

Back to her.

There is nothing out here.


	6. 5 Radioactive

He'd thought to take her up on a dare, once.

In retrospect, that had been stupid.

He had thought she would wither, her bluster would falter. As soon as she knew her bluff had been called.

"I'll squash you. Like a bug."

"I'll burn you."

"I'll kill you."

He had reasoned that if she was too stupid to heed his warnings, she deserved her death. And as gruesome a one as he could give.

But as she kept coming back for more and he found himself unable to end her, he had amended she could die the slow death of being in his proximity.

Slow, soul-crushing despair. He knew he oozed it like radiation, caused by his simple disposition to _not give a fuck_. All those he had known in the past had succumbed to it, sooner or later.

And so she would too.

When he had confided his plans to her she had put a hand to his bare chest as if to feel those rays of death rolling off of him, and had smiled.

Hungrily.

Then they had made love, and at the end he had not been sure who was killing who anymore.


	7. 6 set the world on fire

The world on fire.

Everything is a mess, debris everywhere, her Capsule Corp home in shambles. The gravity room is gone, or replaces by tatters all over her lawn, through the windows, on the roofs as they burn.

It is luck her parents are gone for the weekend.

It is a miracle she is alive.

 _He's_ done it.

Again.

And this time he is laughing.

Standing nearly unscafed in the middel of that carnage. It seems unfair. The least he could do is look guilty. Or bleed a bit.

He enjoys that, right?

Now, she can understand the giddiness of a near-death experience. But she does not appreciate his wide-mouthed laughter. Especially not when this is _her house_ and _she_ is the one that has to fix this mess.

Bulma marches up to the still madly cackling alien, and slaps him.

The laughter cuts off, replaced by the echoes of her hit as air streams past her face.

It takes her a moment to realise his fist is inches from her face.

He seems as surprised as her though, as he lifts it and clenches and uncleanches it a few times experimentally.

 _Fuck, he nearly killed me._

 _Again._

He opens in the most winning smile, and his attention diverts to her. That smile is just for her, and it is impossible to stay mad. Instead, anger is replaced with another familiar emotion.

"Woman," he starts, not quite managing a casual tone, "I think I had it.

"Let's celibrate."


End file.
